


Pinky Promise

by Hella_Queer



Series: Operation KALEIDOSCOPE [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/M, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gunslinger Girl!AU, Michael has a gross crush, but since they aren't together I didn't tag their ship, cuteness, seriously they're adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Lindsay spend a very special day together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinky Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nowhere Kids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031611) by [Kahnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahnah/pseuds/Kahnah). 



> Takes place several months after the epilogue of Novocaine.

 

  
"Jesus fucking Christ! That was the _worst_ ninety minutes of my life!"

Michael doesn't even wait until they're fully out of earshot of the dozens of couples that have also just exited the theatre. He receives several nasty looks from girls on the arms of their boyfriends, but Lindsay is too busy laughing to take notice of any potential threats.

"I tried to tell you," she says through her giggles. Michael's in no mood for her smugness. The absolute shit show they had spent seven dollars on —each!—was nothing but a crappy romance disguised as an even shittier spy movie. Some guy gets tricked into working for the enemy, and falls for the bad chick who's in a weird, unhealthy relationship with the head evil dude. There was a monkey involved, but even that wasn't enough to salvage that train wreck.

"I wanted shit to explode! I don't care if Generic White Guy number fifty-eight bangs Blonde Leather Girl number thirty-three." He shakes his fists at her, scowling fiercely. "And stop laughing!"

He's causing a scene, attracting the attention of people they pass as they amble down the street. It's not like they didn't stand out already, what with Lindsay's fiery red hair and _disgusting_ pink dress with matching boots and white leggings. She said she wanted to dress up for the occasion, but it's hard to look at. Halfway through the film Michael had forced her to wear his jacket; the cool one with the lion on the back. It helped. A little bit.

"There were a few explosions," Lindsay says once she's finally recovered. "The helicopter in the very beginning went down in flames!"

Michael waves her away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Opening with an explosion does not count. That's false advertising at its worse."

Lindsay scoffs, fixing the cuffs of the jacket that just slightly went past the middle of her palms. "What are you, the _boom_ expert?"

"Yes, actually. It's in my file description. Right under 'Could kill a man with a shoelace'." He sidesteps the punch to his shoulder, flicking her ear before jogging ahead. He hears her laugh behind him, and that weird feeling in his stomach flares up again.

"Let's get some food. I'm starving, apparently."

  
____<3____

  
They end up at a fifties style diner that Geoff would probably sell his soul to own. The floor had a checkerboard pattern; cotton candy pink and pastel teal. The walls were covered in records belonging to old musicians; a guitar hung from the ceiling like a chandelier, and the waiters and waitresses went around on roller skates. But the absolute best part was the jukebox.

"How many are we supposed to put in?" Michael asks, hand full of warm quarters. Lindsay's hair falls over his shoulder as she leans closer towards the glass. Records spin round as she cycles through the selections, and Michael can see their reflections. With his old band shirt that he stole from Ray—who stole it from Geoff—and Lindsay's dress, they look like a couple of teens getting ready for the sock-hop. Whatever the fuck that was.

"It's three plays for a dollar," she says absently, tongue poking out between her teeth. "But I can't find the song. Maybe they don't have it."

"So pick something else." Michael hip checks her to the side, mashing down the button as his eyes scan the record titles. He pauses on a particular one and taps the glass with a grin. Lindsay narrows her eyes, then nods approving, so Michael starts feeding the quarters into the jukebox. After seven plays he stops.

"Perfect. Now the distraction." Lindsay selects a song without him seeing what it is, then punches in the rest. They return to their booth just as the opening notes of _Jailhouse Rock_ by Elvis trickle out from the speakers.

Michael chuckles to himself before digging into his burger. It's thick and greasy and oh so delicious. He loved Jack's cooking, but sometimes a boy just needed a little artery clogging goodness. Lindsay must feel the same, because she devours half of her own burger and a good portion of onion rings before she even glances at her drink. It's equal parts scary and impressive.

"When does Jack get back from his mission?" She asks after slowing down a little.

"A few days. The meeting wasn't bad, but he said he got tailed while coming home, so he had to drive straight through Achievement City and into the next town over." He plays with the salt and pepper shakers, trying to push down the anxiety in his stomach. "If he isn't clear in two days Ryan will go and get him."

Lindsay hums as she grabs another few rings. The condensation on her coke glass reminds him of raindrops on windowpanes. As a child he'd watch the droplets race each other, sitting in the passenger seat of Jack's car, his guardian's large hand cradling his smaller one.

"Are you worried?"

The third play of Jailhouse Rock fades out before he answers.

"Yes. But I trust him to come back to me."

He doesn't mention their promise, and Lindsay doesn't pry for more details. She was good about that, offering optional comfort without forcing the issue. It was a nice feeling when his thoughts started to weigh him down. He'd call her up and almost immediately she'd start talking about something stupid and mundane, trying to get him to laugh, getting him to relax so that rationality could take over again. A constant in an ever changing world.

"I'm sure he's fine," Lindsay says, eyeing a couple in the booth by the jukebox. They look irritated, as do a few other patrons. Jailhouse Rock is on its fifth rotation. "Jack is pretty amazing."

She's smiling, but Michael notices the sadness in the corner of her eyes. He hates it, wants to take it away and bring back the confident smirk or amused eye roll. His chest tightens; similar to the anxiety he feels about Jack, but somehow different all together. Before he can do anything about it though, she starts talking.

"My guardian was a coward," she says, voice soft. "It was my job to protect him, so I never cared about being left behind when he ran away. He was my top priority. Always." She takes a sip of Coke, blinking fast. "But in the theatre.. I heard Jack calling out for you. I sent my guardian home before things went to shit, and Jack could have left. He _should_ have left. It wasn't him they were after.

"But he didn't. He tried to find you."

Perhaps in another universe exits a version of Jack that didn't care about him, but even that is hard to imagine. The years Michael has spent with his guardian have been the best of his life. Even when he first arrived, long before he knew what kindness felt like, he had sensed that Jack was something special. Hearing Lindsay recall the events of the past several months just reaffirms that feeling.

"Even after we escaped, I could never wrap my head around why he did that. But now I think I understand."

Michael hangs on her every word, unconsciously leaning across the table. His fingers twitch, and he balls them into fists so that he doesn't do something weird like try to hold her hand.

Lindsay's smile catches him off guard, making his heart beat irregularly for a few seconds. "You're special. You and Ray and Gavin. You're not like the rest of us. You...feel things." Her hands close around the glass, like she needs something to hold on to.

Michael wants to say that his new skills are the result of Jack, but that's not entirely true. Ray wouldn't even speak to anyone besides Geoff, and now he crawls on everyone and claims them as his personal chair. Gavin was so afraid to care about anyone, fully dedicated to his guardian that was distant and unresponsive most of the time. But now Ryan gives him little gifts and ruffles his hair, and Gavin hands out hugs like they're going out of style. The six of them have changed so much, have changed each other, and it's nearly impossible to remember what he had been like before.

"I think I feel things now, too."

Michael never really paid attention to other people's eyes, especially after he got glasses, but Lindsay's were very nice. They appeared to change between a gray-blue—like frosted glass—and this dark winter green that could give Gavin's a run for his money. Those eyes hold him captive. Which was a dumb thing to think. So he sits back against the booth just in time to catch the song that was fading out of the jukebox.

 _We Didn't Start the Fire_ by Billy Joel. One of his favorite songs. One of his favorite songs that Lindsay had selected.

His fingers do the stupid twitchy thing again, but thankfully the low beats of yet another play of Jailhouse Rock, and the pained groans of the diner patrons drown out the odd feelings. Michael polishes off his burger and wipes the grease from his hands with some napkins. Lindsay munches on the last few onion rings as she scans the back of the menu.

"Wanna share a milkshake?" She asks, slurping down the rest of the coke until it makes that annoying vacuum sound that indicates an empty glass. Michael makes a face.

"With your backwash? No thanks."

Lindsay laughs, nose scrunching, her eyes crinkling, driving away the lingering sadness in the corners. Michael feels himself smiling in response, that fuzzy feeling in his stomach coming back twice as strong as before.

He doesn't mind.

  
____<3____

  
It didn't snow in Achievement City, despite it being February, but still a cool breeze passes over them as they stroll along the boardwalk by the beach. Michael is glad that he had worn a long sleeved shirt, but still misses the added warmth of his jacket. But he can't ask for it back because then Lindsay would get cold. It was her own fault for wearing that dumb dress, but he wasn't gonna be an asshole about it.

Other people are there today, mostly dog walkers and couples that do the gross cuddling-while-walking thing. Lindsay has her eyes on one such couple now, scoffing as they rollerblade past, hands clasped together. They aren't wearing helmets, and Michael kinda wants to throw a stick in their path and watch them eat shit. They deserve it for not being safe.

"I don't get it," Lindsay says, turning her attention back to her ice cream. They had passed a street vendor a few blocks back, and since they left the diner without ordering dessert, Michael figured they could have a treat. He insisted on paying.

"What? Rollerblading?" Michael munches on his cone, wishing he had taken those complimentary napkins. His hand is all sticky from the ice cream drips, and licking it off doesn't make it any better.

"No, the hand holding." She gestures at the couple; the boy stumbles and almost takes the girl down with him, yet they remain in contact. "See! Why didn't she let go just then? What if these two were on a mission or something?"

Michael snorts, licking his palm after polishing off his treat. "Who died and made you the ruler of proper getaways?" Lindsay flicks his ear, unamused. "You laugh now. But watch when you're trying to dodge bullets and get your arm ripped out of its socket."

"Who's hand would I be holding for that to even happen?"

"I don't know!" Lindsay throws her hands up in the air, puffing out her cheeks with an exaggerated huff. "Gavin's or Ray's? That's not the important part. The important part is–"

"Let's do it."

Lindsay pauses in her rant to give him a blank stare. "Do what?"

"Hold hands while we run."

Inside Michael is screaming, clawing at his stupid brain with a metaphorical spoon. His hands are already sticky from the melted ice cream, and now they're clammy. His pulse jumps in his neck and he prays to every god he doesn't believe in that Lindsay doesn't notice. But she's staring at her own hands, flexing her fingers. She's got scars on her knuckles, the lines on her palms mixing with cuts from months ago. Michael wants to trace them all with his fingertips.

"Okay." For one terrifying moment Michael thinks that's he's spoken aloud. His wide-eyed gaze turns to Lindsay, then to her outstretched hand. She wiggles her fingers after a moment of nothing, and without really thinking about it, Michael curves his wrist around hers and slides his fingers into the appropriate spots. It feels strange; he's never held hands like this, has only grasped a palm or clutched at Jack's fingers when he was small. This is something completely new.

"It's like holding a locked cage," Lindsay murmurs, staring down at their hands. "But a lock with a key, not a combination lock. Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely."

A minute passes where they do nothing but stand there holding hands. Then Michael remembers that they're supposed to be doing an experiment, and gently tugs Lindsay in the direction of the base. As the sun sets the lingering warmth goes along with it, and Michael finds himself walking closer to her as a result. Lindsay doesn't seem to mind.

They both forget to run.

  
____<3____

  
"I still can't believe you left your keys at the apartment."

After going all the way back to the base, Lindsay realized that the keys to her apartment were at _Michael's_ apartment, which was twenty minutes away from the base on foot. He made fun of her the whole way there, bonking her on the head more than once with their conjoined hands.

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, then bumps his shoulder as he tries to unlock the door. He mock glares at her, unlocking the door before trying to bite at her cheek. She snorts and pushes him forward, and the two laugh their way into the kitchen. There's two plates on the counter, both holding a short-stack of heart shaped pancakes. The man by the stove looks up, then grins wide when he catches sight of them.

"I was wondering where you went off to, today."

"Jack!" Michael beams as he's enveloped in a familiar pair of arms. "I didn't think you'd be home until tomorrow."

A light kiss falls on his forehead as Jack releases him. "Like I was gonna let some jerk ruin our Valentine's Day tradition." He looks over at the pancakes then leans down, lowers his voice as if he's sharing a secret. "I added chocolate chips this time."

Michael giggles, feeling warm all over. A soft laugh from the doorway catches his attention, and then he remembers why he didn't have breakfast with Jack that morning. "Oh! Do you uh, wanna stay for dinner breakfast, Linds?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude on a tradition," she says, sending a small smile Jack's way. Michael feels something small and uncomfortable in the walls of his stomach. It wasn't hunger this time, and it wasn't the nice fluttery feeling either. It was disappointment, and it tasted like ash.

"Well we'd love to have you over for dinner some other time." Jack's hand is a much needed stabilizer on his shoulder. Michael breathes in deeply, nods to show that he also likes the idea. Lindsay blinks, expression unreadable before its replaced by something incredibly soft.

"I'd...really like that. Thank you." Her eyes are bright, stealing all the lighting in the room. Michael finds himself being drawn forward, hand reaching out to hand her the keys he doesn't remember picking up. She takes them, keeping him trapped by gaze alone.

"Don't die on the way home, okay?" Michael murmurs, glancing away. "I'd have to avenge you, and I'd really like a lazy weekend."

She laughs, that amazing sound Michael will never grow tired of. She holds out her pinky, and Michael wraps his own around hers, shaking once. He finds that he doesn't want to let go.

"Promise."

After she leaves, Jack brings their plates into the living room. They watch a few bad Valentine's Day specials before breaking out the controllers and playing a few rounds of Trials. Michael wiggles his pinky every so often.

"So, how was the date?"

"Jack!"

His guardian laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Just kidding, pumpkin." Michael pouts, but can't do much to hide his pink cheeks. The incident is soon forgotten as they start up another game. But Michael keeps looking down at his hand, at the gaps between his fingers. He remembers how it felt to hold a padlock cage, and the sound of music in the form of laughter.

Maybe Lindsay would like to hang out again tomorrow.

 

 


End file.
